


Eternally Phryne and Jack

by Fire_Sign, gaslightgallows (hearts_blood), Meldanya, MercurialBianca_TheHonorableMrsMcCarthy, PhryneFisherismyRoleModel (mewme), Sarahtoo, Whilenotwriting



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, all the aus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-09
Updated: 2016-06-09
Packaged: 2018-07-12 11:05:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7100497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fire_Sign/pseuds/Fire_Sign, https://archiveofourown.org/users/hearts_blood/pseuds/gaslightgallows, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meldanya/pseuds/Meldanya, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MercurialBianca_TheHonorableMrsMcCarthy/pseuds/MercurialBianca_TheHonorableMrsMcCarthy, https://archiveofourown.org/users/mewme/pseuds/PhryneFisherismyRoleModel, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarahtoo/pseuds/Sarahtoo, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whilenotwriting/pseuds/Whilenotwriting
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Happy birthday aljohnson! As you are so well known for your Miss Fisher modern AU, we thought we'd do our own takes on Jack and Phryne through the ages. </p><p>Hope it's a great birthday, lady!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Long Ago and Far Away

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aljohnson](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aljohnson/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By [Fire_Sign](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Fire_Sign/pseuds/Fire_Sign)

Long ago and far away (how far depends on your location), there was a land called Melbourne. And in this land there were kings and queens, dukes and duchesses, knights and ladies. And the most renowned of those knights was Sir Jaq of Richmond, Son of Robin. He had been a knight for many years, since he had returned from the wars far away in another country. He and his trusty steed travelled throughout Melbourne, righting wrongs and seeking justice. ‘Sir Jaq the Noble’ people called him, ‘Sir Jaq the Brave’. He preferred not to hear. 

There was one wrong he had heard whispers of, and it intrigued him endlessly: a princess locked in a tower, held captive by an evil wizard. So he searched and he asked and he read many old tomes, because Sir Jaq was a studious knight, and eventually he found a map that led him to a copse of willows at the head of the river, an enormous tower looming over the weeping trees.

Now, Sir Jaq was a cautious knight. So he watched the tower for three days and nights. On the first night, he caught a glimpse of the princess at the window; she was, even at a distance, so beautiful that his heart leapt. On the second night, he saw the princess face the wizard; she was, even at a distance, so brave that his heart leapt. On the third night, he caught the princess forming a rope of dinner napkins; she was, even at a distance, so resourceful that his heart leapt.

On the fourth night, Sir Jaq crept close to the tower and called up.

“M’lady? I have come to rescue you.”

A pale face surrounded by dark hair peered from the window; up close she was even more beautiful.

“I am not finished here,” she called, “but come back tomorrow. And please, do call me Phryne.”

Sir Jaq asked if he could in any way aid her in her endeavour, and she asked simply for a story. Sir Jaq had recited many songs and stories in his youth, but had lost the will to do so many years past. But for the princess he remembered a bawdy tale. And he learnt on that fourth night that she had a laugh full of joy. And his heart leapt.

On the fifth night, Sir Jaq crept close to the tower and called up.

“M’lady? I have come to rescue you.”

“I am not finished here,” she called, “but come back tomorrow.”

Sir Jaq asked if he could in any way aid her in her endeavour, and she asked simply for a story. Sir Jaq had recited many songs and stories in his youth, but had lost the will to do so many years past. But for the princess he remembered a lover’s tale. And he learnt on that fifth night that she had a heart as deep as any ocean he had crossed. And his heart leapt.

On the sixth night, Sir Jaq crept close to the tower and called up.

“M’lady? I have come to rescue you.”

“I am not finished here,” she called, “but come back tomorrow.”

Sir Jaq asked if he could in any way aid her in her endeavour, and she asked simply for a story. Sir Jaq had recited many songs and stories in his youth, but had lost the will to do so many years past. But for the princess he remembered an alchemist’s tale. And he learnt on that sixth night that she had a mind that was sharp and keen. And his heart leapt.

On the seventh night, Sir Jaq crept close to the tower and called up.

“M’lady? I have come to rescue you.”

A pale face surrounded by dark hair peered from the window; up close she was even more beautiful.

“I am not finished here,” she called, “but come back tomorrow.”

Sir Jaq asked if he could in any way aid her in her endeavour, and she asked simply for a sword.

“Of course, m’lady,” he said, “but how shall I get it to you?”

The princess dropped down the rope of dinner napkins. 

“A man can climb up this tower,” she said, “but cannot climb down again. When the Wizard Foyle comes tonight, he will create a door. With your sword I can slay the foul man and make my escape.”

Sir Jaq carefully tied his sword to the rope and retreated back to the weeping willows to wait.

Just before dawn, he saw a man approach the tower and whisper an invocation. A door appeared, as Phryne--the princess--had foretold. He watched, cautiously, as the man disappeared from sight. Then he took his dagger and crept towards the door and into the tower.

Halfway up the large staircase, he heard a shout and a loud scuffle; he bounded, caution gone, up the rest of the stairs. When he burst through the upper door, panting, he found the princess standing over the remains of the Wizard Foyle and cleaning his sword with the hem of her skirt.

“Hello, Sir Jaq!” she said. “Rather a waste of a good gown.” 

Sir Jaq laughed; no other response was possible.

The princess kicked the corpse, and it crumbled into dust before their eyes. Then she sashayed across the room, returned Jaq’s sword to his hand, and made her way down the staircase.

When they were outside once more, the morning sun was peeking above the horizon and the birds sang in the trees. 

“Will you return to Melbourne, m’lady?”

The princess smiled broadly.

“Oh no, Sir Jaq. There is a whole world out there to explore,” she said, her voice bright. 

Sir Jaq struggled to hide his disappointment. 

“Then I will wish you safe journeys,” he said with a bow. “And offer you my sword for your protection, as you have wielded it well.”

The princess looked at him quizzically.

“But, Sir Jaq, you will come with me, of course?”

And Sir Jaq’s heart leapt.

“Of course, m’lady. Of course.”


	2. 1712(ish): The Jolly Roger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By [Sarahtoo](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarahtoo/pseuds/Sarahtoo)

Lieutenant Jack Robinson had known that this day was coming. Captain Hartley had told him weeks ago that he’d been chosen to undertake a very special mission for the British Navy. The French were gearing up for war, and the British needed as much intelligence as they could get, so Hartley had requested that Jack pose as a hostage to a privateer. Jack would deliver a coded message to the captain of another British ship. All he had to do, Hartley had said, was allow himself to be “taken” when their ship was boarded.

Now, Jack braced himself as the French ship, its pirate flag proudly flapping in the sea breeze, came up alongside the _King William III_. The sailors on _La Belle Dame_ stood ready to throw their grappling hooks over and tie the two ships together. Jack felt a chill of apprehension as he watched their expressions—two men in particular seemed to be enjoying this boarding party plan quite a bit. One had blonde hair and sunburned cheeks that made his single blue eye (the other was covered with a black patch) stand out even from where Jack stood; the other stepped lightly on his peg leg, his narrow build towering a head above his mate. _Those two look like trouble_ , Jack thought, as he caught their bright grins.

The captain of _La Belle Dame_ stepped out of the shade of the cabin, moving lightly over to stand at the ship’s rail. Jack couldn’t see the man clearly, but he appeared to be slight, with black hair caught back in a queue along his neck. His wide-brimmed tricorne hat shadowed his face, and his deep blue velvet coat shone with gold trim.

As the ship drew closer, Jack found that he couldn’t take his eyes off the figure of the captain, who stood strong, legs spread wide against the rocking of the sea and arms crossed over his chest. Jack had never been so enthralled by another person in his life—even the first time he’d seen his wife, Rosalind, he’d thought her lovely but he hadn’t been spellbound by her. It was as if this captain was a mythical creature of some kind, to hold Jack’s attention for so long. Jack could feel the man’s magnetism even from here, and he could feel himself begin to harden inside his trousers.

As _La Belle Dame_ came close enough to allow its grappling hooks to find purchase on the _King William_ ’s rails, the captain spoke, shouting across to Hartley, and Jack was shocked to realize that it wasn’t a man’s voice at all.

“Ahoy the _King William_! Captain Hartley, I presume?” Jack looked more closely—the face underneath the enormous feathered hat was not, as he’d assumed, male, but instead sported high cheekbones and a delicately pointed chin; scanning the captain’s body again now that the ships were closer together, Jack could see the feminine curves filling out the breeches. What he’d taken to be a cream-colored cravat tied around a masculine throat was actually bare skin; the white of the captain’s shirt opened in a vee down to a fitted waistcoat that showed plump breasts. Jack’s cock hardened farther.

“Captain Fisher!” Hartley’s genial voice called across to the woman and Jack watched her smile flash. “Do come across and join me for dinner, won’t you?”

“With pleasure!” As soon as the two ships were close enough, _La Belle Dame_ ’s captain vaulted up onto its handrail and jumped gracefully across, landing lightly directly in front of Jack. He swallowed, his indrawn breath bringing the scent of perfume and powder and something excitingly musky.

“Hello, Lieutenant,” she purred, her eyes taking him in. Jack clasped his hands together in front of himself, hoping that his arousal would not be evident, but he rather thought she’d noticed when she glanced down his body and then met his eyes with a smirk.

“Captain,” he said, his low voice conveying both respect and desire. With a nod, she stepped past him to greet his captain, and he let out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. That woman would be dangerous to his equilibrium, and he would be traveling with her for the next several weeks. He found himself suddenly much more interested in this assignment; his lips quirked slightly in a smile. Looking up, Jack caught the blonde sailor with the eyepatch watching him, a sardonic grin on his face as his eyes traveled from Jack to his captain as if he could tell what Jack was thinking.

Turning away from the sailor’s knowing glance, Jack walked over to where his captain stood talking with Captain Fisher.

“Ah, Lieutenant Robinson!” Captain Hartley greeted him as he came up behind her. “Meet Captain Phryne Fisher of _La Belle Dame_. Captain Fisher is our contact, and she’ll be your host until you can get that message to Captain Redstone of the _Victory._ ”

“Oh, so you’re to be my guest, Lieutenant? How delightful!” The captain’s gaze roamed over him one more time, the glint in her eyes and the lift of her eyebrow showing that she liked what she saw.

“I look forward to your hospitality, Captain Fisher,” Jack said, returning her smirk with one of his own.

Turning back to Hartley, she smiled winningly. “Well then, why don’t we have that dinner, give the lieutenant here a chance to gather his things? We can take one more sailor, if you’ve a mind to send one, captain.”

Captain Hartley offered his arm to Captain Fisher as he led her toward his cabin. “Yes, Lieutenant Robinson has already chosen a midshipman who will accompany him—you’ll inform Collins, Jack?”

“Yes sir, right away sir,” Jack responded with a short bow, his eyes on the lovely captain as she walked away. Blowing out a quick breath, he turned smartly on his heel and headed over to find his compatriot.

 

*****

 

Jack stood on the deck of _La Belle Dame_ , his duffel slung over his shoulder, watching the _King William_ sail away without him. He’d changed out of his officer’s red coat, and stood now in his white brocade waistcoat over linen shirt and breeches. He wished that he could remove his waistcoat and boots as the other sailors—including his friend Collins—did, but his rank prohibited it.

Keeping his back straight and his shoulders squared, he looked around the ship’s deck. It was well-kept, and the crew appeared to know their duties and be willing to do them. Looking up to the raised deck where the ship’s wheel stood, Jack could see what he took to be the ship’s first mate, a rather more rounded figure than the captain. Squinting, Jack confirmed his first thought—yes, that was another woman steering the ship. What a remarkable crew this was—sailors generally considered women to be bad luck at sea, but this captain had obviously been successful in her career.

“Mr Yates, if you’d show Mr Collins to his bunk, I’ll escort the Lieutenant to his quarters.”

“Of course, captain,” the peg-legged sailor nodded his head and gestured to Collins.

Jack’s gaze swung around to rest on Captain Fisher, who tilted her head to indicate that he should follow her. With a nod and a tilt of his own head, he did.

She led him quietly down into the depths of the ship; he had expected that he would have a private cabin—he knew that she was aware of his rank—but he hadn’t expected to be led so close to what was surely the captain’s cabin; the hallway was narrow, with doors on either side and an ornate door at the far end. As they walked, she pointed out the water closet and bathing room; all of the officers would likely share it, he knew. She stopped just before she reached the end of the hallway, and reaching out, opened the door to a small room with a single bunk and a fixed desk. It was spare, with whitewashed walls and a small porthole; there were three hooks on one wall for his clothing and a small chest at the end of the bed, and a set of sheets and blankets were folded neatly atop the pillow.

Her eyes were unreadable as she watched him step past her and take in the room. “If you’ll leave your things, Lieutenant, I’ve ordered supper to be served in my quarters. We can have a briefing before it arrives.”

“Of course, captain.” She’d stood in the doorway, forcing him to brush his chest against hers as he passed through. Her body was soft, and she smelled _very_ good, and neither of those facts was helping his near-constant state of arousal. Breathing carefully in an attempt to master himself, Jack hoped that she might be willing to offer him more than just hospitality during his stay aboard. He dropped his duffel to the bed and turned to follow her again.

He’d been right about the location of her cabin—she took the three steps to the door at the end of the hallway and opened it, turning to smile lightly at him before preceding him inside. Her quarters could not in any way be considered “spare,” he thought as he followed her.

The wide room had been draped in soft fabric, and there were stacks of pillows in the corners and thick rugs on the floor, as if the occupant enjoyed lounging about. The space stretched the full width of the ship, and was at least three times as deep as his tiny room was wide. To his right sat a small table and four high-backed chairs, and a door beyond them likely led to a private bathing room. On his left was a foldaway bed of the type that could either be used as a single or, if the sleeper needed more space, could pull out into a double. A closed roll-top desk sat directly opposite the main entrance, an unlit lamp sitting atop it. To either side of the desk, floor-to-ceiling windows looked out onto a small deck and the ship’s wake; Jack assumed that the windows would open so that the captain could step out to take the air.

“Come in, Lieutenant. Have a seat.” She indicated one of the chairs beside the table, and pulled another out for herself. She turned to shrug out of her coat, hanging it on a hook to one side of the main door. Jack swallowed hard at the first sight of her without the enveloping cloth of her jacket—her buckskin trousers hugged her bottom and her waistcoat followed the line of her breasts and waist.

Jack sat down abruptly in a chair that faced the door, crossing his legs in the hopes that he could obscure what had become an almost permanent erection. “This is an elegant space, captain.”

“Thank you,” she said as she reached up to remove her hat and hang it above her coat. Jack licked his lips lightly as he watched her, and he swallowed hard. “I once was privileged to spend some time in the harem of an Arab sheikh, and I loved the soft textures of the fabrics and pillows that they used to decorate. I’ve tried to replicate that here.”

“I haven’t had that experience, but the overall effect is rather lushly exotic, so I think you’ve succeeded.” Jack was proud of how calm his voice sounded—as she’d spoken his mind had conjured an image of the captain in the costume of a woman of the harem, sheer fabrics teasing and heavily kohled eyes flashing. _Lucky sheikh,_ he thought.

Captain Fisher turned to face him, smoothing her hands down her waistcoat, her eyes raking from his short hair down to his high boots. “Would you care for a drink, Lieutenant? Or may I call you Jack?”

“Yes, thank you, captain—to both.” Jack did his best to smile as she moved past him to a cabinet set in the wall beside the washroom door. When she opened it, he glimpsed shelves with small brass rails holding a set of crystal decanters and a half-dozen glasses before his gaze drifted downward to her ass. He swallowed again as she turned back to him, two glasses in one hand and a decanter of whiskey in the other. His eyes flashed up to hers, and he saw that she was smiling knowingly at him. He smiled back, a little wickedly, and saw her eyes light up.

She poured a splash of liquor into each glass and handed him one, leaving the decanter on the table as she moved back around him to pull out another chair. Rather than turning it to face him, though, she straddled its seat, propping her forearms on the ladder back.

“So, Jack,” she said, her voice low and intimate, “supper won’t be served for at least another hour.” She took a drink of whiskey and her eyes dropped to his lap, where his cock had reached painful hardness. “Whatever shall we do to pass the time?”

Jack took a mouthful of his own whiskey, his eyes on hers. “I am certain that we can find some means of… entertaining ourselves, captain.” His tongue flicked out to moisten his lips, and hers mirrored the motion. She met his eyes as she took another drink, then set her glass down on the table with a soft _click_.

“You’re a very handsome man, Jack,” she purred as she stood again, spinning her chair to push it back under the table as she took a step closer to him.

“You’re a very beautiful woman,” he responded, uncrossing his legs and setting his own whiskey aside.

Standing in front of him, she set her hands on his shoulders and held his eyes as she swung a leg over him and sank down onto his lap. Jack’s hands went to her hips to steady her as she pressed against his hardness. Eyes on his, she leaned in to kiss him.

Jack closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around her, one rising to the back of her head and the other dipping to slide down the crack of her ass and pull her closer to him as he pulsed his hips against hers. The taste of her mouth flooded through him—whiskey and spice and _woman_ —and with a growl, he slid his hand down from her hair and into the neckline of her blouse to cover her breast. She groaned into his mouth and, pressing her hips against his, unfastened the buttons of her waistcoat and shrugged it off; her blouse had no fastenings but simply overlapped in the front, so Jack had immediate access to her unbound breasts, a fact that he took advantage of, tearing his mouth from hers and bending to suck her nipple between his lips.

She arched backward, pressing her breast against his tongue and letting her blouse fall off her shoulders, her whimpers of arousal echoing through the cabin. Jack’s hands moved to undo the fall of her breeches, his nimble fingers sliding inside to tangle in the short dark hair that covered her mound. He was unsurprised to find that she wore no undergarments, and he moaned against her skin as he pushed his fingers into the wet heat between her legs, his long fingers sliding between her labia to circle her clit.

“Oh, you _are_ good at this, Lieutenant,” she breathed as he manipulated her, one finger moving to press inside her body. Blouse now discarded, she raised her hands to his head, pushing the fingers of one into his dark curls, the other reaching behind to grasp his queue in a tight fist.

“Eight months at sea without a woman, Captain Fisher, does lead a man to making plans,” he replied softly, his mouth quirking up on one side in a way that made his cheek crease.

“Mmm, you should probably call me Phryne, as you have your hand in my quim,” she said with a laugh as she rocked her hips against that hand.

“I’m hoping to have more in your quim before long, _Phryne_ ,” he rumbled into her ear. “I’ve been thinking about fucking you since the moment I saw you.” He added a second finger to the one inside her and continued to pump them hard, his thumb on her clit.

“Have you, Jack?” She said, her hands grasping at his hair. Her breath uneven, Phryne began to press her toes against the floor so that she was sliding up and down his fingers in a rhythm that made Jack growl again.

“Oh yes,” he said. “Can’t you tell?” He grasped her wrist to bring one of her hands down between them, pressing it against his cock.

With a sound of approval, Phryne brought her other hand to join the first and unbuttoned his breeches, pulling him out and wrapping her fingers around him. He hissed in pleasure as her hand began to pump him.

“Ohh, _fuck_ ,” he said, and after a moment, he pushed her gently off his lap till she was standing.

“What are you—”

“Just removing some layers,” he assured her, yanking his breeches and smalls down to his thighs. She hummed in approval at the sight of his muscular legs.

Replacing his hands on her hips, he turned her around before pulling her breeches down as well. “Beautiful,” he murmured, and she looked over her shoulder to see him set his mouth to her ass in a wet, open kiss. Then he pulled her back toward his lap and she felt him nudging at her entrance.

Resting one hand on the table, she sank down onto him, the constriction of her breeches around her thighs keeping her legs together. The feeling was glorious, tight and hot and hard and wet, and both of them groaned. When he was fully seated inside her, she leaned back against him, lifting her other arm to push her fingers into his hair again, grasping it hard as she began to move. Jack raised his hands to cover her breasts, his mouth open against her neck.

“Oh, god, Jack, harder,” Phryne wailed when the relatively shallow movements that she could manage, constrained as she was, were no longer enough.

Jack grabbed the edge of the table himself, and with a grunt, pushed up from the chair till they were both standing. “Brace yourself, captain,” he growled, and when Phryne had both hands on the edge of the table, he grasped her hips and began to thrust.

The sharp slapping sounds of his flesh meeting hers filled the cabin, accompanied by their labored breathing. Jack plunged hard into her, feeling her warm wetness close around him with each movement; when he needed a rest, he pushed in completely, then curled his back to press and release within her for a while before resuming his thrusting rhythm.

When the tension became too much to bear, Phryne braced herself with one arm and slid the other hand down between her legs to her clit, whimpering as the sensations increased. As he felt her climax nearing, Jack slid his hands up to squeeze her breasts again, his fingers pinching and pulling at her nipples; he fastened his mouth to the back of her neck and began to suck. Keening, Phryne came, her internal muscles rippling along Jack’s cock. He thrust a few more times and pulled out with a shout, spilling himself against her back.

Both breathing hard, they remained there for a moment, then Jack took the handkerchief from his waistcoat pocket—he laughed slightly, realizing that he was still almost fully clothed—and used it to wipe first her and then himself clean. When he was done, he stepped back and Phryne straightened, pulling her breeches up over her hips and turning to smile at him as she fastened them, utterly unconcerned that she remained half-naked.

“That was an excellent briefing, Lieutenant,” she said, her eyes laughing up into his.

“I aim to please, captain,” he responded dryly as he tucked his shirttails into his own breeches, his eyes on her breasts as she leaned over to pick up her waistcoat and shirt, pulling the latter on but leaving it open.

“Supper should be here shortly. Perhaps you’ll stay for some dessert?” Stepping close, she slipped a hand around to stroke his ass, then gave it a squeeze as he responded by running a hand inside her shirt to cup her breast, his thumb rubbing softly at her still-hard nipple.

“Mmm,” he said, leaning down to kiss her, more slowly and thoroughly this time. “I think a little bit of sweetness after dinner would hit the spot.”

“Well, you are going to be an obliging guest, aren’t you?”

“My captain did say that I should render you any assistance you might need while I’m on board, ma’am.” Jack’s smile was wicked.

“Excellent, Lieutenant. I’m sure that I’ll find ways to use you.”

“I’ll look forward to it, Captain Fisher.”


	3. 1792: The Azure Kingfisher

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> By [Meldanya](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Meldanya)
> 
> It is 1792. The French Revolution is at its bloodiest. Mr. Jack Robinson is working as a frustrated government envoy in Paris. Meanwhile, a enigmatic hero called the Azure Kingfisher is smuggling aristocrats out of the country.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have a happy happy birthday, aljohnson! Enjoy this riff on the Scarlet Pimpernel.

_1792_. The reign of terror is turning the streets of Paris red as the guillotine claims victims daily. The old elite classes of France are brought low, as entire families of former aristocrats are slaughtered.

Neighbouring countries wring their hands, refusing to interfere. There is no hope for the prisoners of the Republic in Paris.

Rumours persist, however, of a daring spy, nicknamed the Azure Kingfisher. This spy is able to smuggle out entire families of aristocrats, right out from under the government's spies. Scores of fugitives are welcomed in London, unable to say who helped them escape, but tell tales of elaborate disguises and brave deeds.

In London society, the Azure Kingfisher is the topic of conversation at every private and public ball, every opera box, every theatre gallery.

One Mrs. Stanley's ball is no exception to this rule.

* * *

_Out of all the silly women here, this one has to be the silliest._ Mr. Robinson stifled yet another yawn and composed his face into a smile for his dancing partner.

“Yes, Miss Fisher. Paris is very dangerous indeed at this time.”

She had to have been one of the most richly dressed women in the room, and he tried not to think about how much food even one of those jewels would buy for the starving souls in France.

Miss Fisher fluttered her eyes at him, and simpered, “It’s awfully brave of you to travel there now, sir. I would fear for my life among those bloodthirsty ruffians.”

“All in the line of duty for his majesty’s government, madam.” _Why had he even agreed to come to this ball?_

“How very noble! Do you save many of those poor French aristocrats? As many as the heroic Azure Kingfisher does?” she giggled.

Jack internally groaned -- he did not need to be reminded at how his diplomatic efforts failed more often than not, and London would not let him forget it. He simply bowed in response.

The dance was complete and he escorted his partner back to her seat. “Thank you for the honour of this dance, Miss Fisher.”

“Indeed, the honour was all mine, Mr. Robinson. _Do_ have a safe journey to France tomorrow.”

“I will endeavour to do so the best of my abilities, Miss Fisher.”

“If you see that gallant Kingfisher, send him my regards,” she giggled. “Unless, of course,” she added, fluttering her eyelashes at him, “you are the Kingfisher _yourself_ , Mr. Robinson.”

He refrained from rolling his eyes at her coquettishness. “Your servant, madam,” and fled.

* * *

Mr. Robinson returned to his own party, hoping that it would soon be time to depart.

“How was your evening cousin?" Lady Rosamund asked him.

"Very little of note, madam."

"You did not enjoy the dance? Your partner seemed very obliging in her smiles."

"Yes, in her smiles and everything else... Rosie, cousin, please do not think that because you called off our childhood understanding that you need to secure me a wife."

"The Honorable Miss Fisher has both wealth and stature, dear Jack. You could not do better."

"I will chose a wife for myself, and it will not be from amongst this crowd. You know I value the quiet life, and that is not to be found in this elaborate pomp and splendour,” Jack gestured at the glittering ballroom behind him.

Lady Rosamund sighed, “This is simply the way things are done in London, Cousin Jack.”

“It was also how they were done in Paris and look at it now, Rosamund.”

“Surely you aren’t expressing sympathies with the rebels, sir!”

“No! No, indeed.” Jack winced -- he would not share the horror in France right now with his innocent cousin.

He changed the subject, “All Miss Fisher wanted to speak of was the Azure Kingfisher. I must confess I grow weary of hearing the ceaseless idle speculation.”

Lady Rosamund started enthusing on the subject, “Ah, well, dear cousin, we ladies think of the Kingfisher as a hero of old … we tremble for his danger, and exult his every victory. We worship him.”

Jack groaned again -- he should not have come to this ball.

* * *

Seven days later, Mr. Robinson was pacing in a Calais tavern in frustration. He had spent the week fruitlessly arguing with the revolutionary government, trying to get some victims released and was now travelling back to London with nothing but empty promises.

The oily representative of the Committee for Public Safety, M. Dubois, had assured him that the prisoners would be treated with the utmost delicacy and fairness. Jack knew it was all lies. 

“Sir, do you think they will released Comte St-Renaud and his sister?” said his attache, Mr. Collins.

He didn’t respond to the young man. No, he didn’t think that they’d be released. Not when he’d exerted every possible influence to do so. He thought back to his many happy dinners with the young Comte and his charming sister, Constance. Jack shuddered at the thought of both innocents being sent to the guillotine.

“Perhaps … perhaps the Kingfisher will save them?” suggested Collins. Jack had little hope of that -- Dubois had dropped many broad hints that the French agents were close on the heels of the enigmatic spy. The Kingfisher's luck would surely not hold forever. 

“Sir?” Collins asked. “Shall I go see if we can make passage back to Dover tonight?”

“Yes, yes, please do.” Robinson said absently.

He was reluctant to begin the trip back to England just yet, still consumed by the thoughts of the young St-Renauds in danger, especially Constance. He sipped the swill served at this grotty tavern with a grimace; the tavern was deserted, except for a grubby servant boy, sulking in the corner.

He leaned against the wall in exhaustion. As he did, he could start to hear a whispered conversation outside, and recognize the familiar, much loathed voice of M. Dubois.

“Sir, we have received news that the English spy has hidden the fugitives in Pierre Tremblay’s hut down the beach."

“Excellent news, soldier.”

Robinson froze -- was it possible that the Azure Kingfisher was _here_ , in Calais? Who had he rescued?

“Your orders, sir?”

“Keep an eye on the Englishmen here. I will head down to Pierre Tremblay’s hut and lay my trap. We will apprehend that villainous spy and those traitorous St-Renauds at the same time.”

Without another thought, Jack stepped out of the tavern and into the darkness.

He watched as the two government agents split and he crept after M. Dubois as he went down the shore road.

He had no idea what had prompted him to do this. He _had_ to save the Kingfisher and the St-Renauds, if he possibly could.

“Fool,” he cursed to himself, “you have thrown away your position and are risking your life on nothing but a chance." But he kept moving. 

He dodged Dubois all the way down the road, but he didn’t have a plan yet for when they got to the hut.The moon went behind a cloud and the night became very very dark. Jack couldn’t see his mark anymore and he paused to listen for his footsteps.

Suddenly, he heard a voice hissing. “You. I thought it was you,” and a thwack came across his head and his world went dark.

* * *

Mr. Robinson awoke, head pounding. He was lying in a filthy hut, mostly likely Pierre Tremblay's. He’d failed -- he’d failed to save Constance and Vincent yet again.

“Well, Monsieur Robinson,” a voice hissed in the darkness, “I always suspected it was you smuggling the traitorous fugitives.”

M. Dubois was standing over him, sneering at him, “At last, I have outwitted you. Now, where have you hidden those filthy aristos?”

Jack remained silent, trying to piece together what had happened. _Had the St-Renauds escaped?_

“Never mind. They will be found before dawn. For now, you shall stay here under heavy guard, and, once they are found, the three of you will be sent immediately to the guillotine to be executed as traitors.”

With that, Dubois departed, and Jack was left struggling helplessly against his bonds.

He eventually gave up, and sank back down with his aching head. _How could he have failed so badly?_

Then, out of the darkness, he heard a voice whisper in a hush, “Do not move an inch,” and his ropes were cut. “Stand up slowly, and take my hand.”

Jack slowly stumbled to his feet. “Who -- what --?”

“Sssh,” said the figure. “Follow me.” Jack took the offered hand, and they crept out of the hut. 

The soldiers who had been stationed around the hut had been knocked out cold. Robinson could  see his guide a little clearer in the moonlight -- his rescuer was familiar, slim, dark, was it the sullen boy from the tavern?

“Now, really, Mr. Robinson, how came you to be here, practically foiling all my plans, instead of tucked up safely in your cabin sailing back to Dover?”

Jack thought the blow to his head must have driven him mad. _She_ couldn’t be here.

“We no sooner get the St-Renauds safely aboard my yacht, after a fearful time smuggling them out of Paris, than I learn that you, sir, Mr. Robinson, his majesty’s loyal servant, has gotten himself captured by French agents for no particular reason.”

“Miss … Fisher?” Jack gasped, trying to understand what was happening. “Miss Fisher? You -- YOU -- are the King … fisher.”

Miss Fisher airily waved her hand, “One does what one must in these times! Now, where is that boat?”

He felt utterly bemused as Miss Fisher herded him into a boat tucked on the shore, and started rowing him out to her yacht. He watched her as she handled the boat masterfully -- and marveled at how this woman had thrown dust in the eyes of all of London, dismissed universally as a vacuous heiress, while executing one daring rescue mission after the other. How had he been so fooled? 

He felt even more bewildered as he was helped onto the yacht by a sailor with a very familiar face.

“Cousin Rosie!” cried Jack in astonishment.

“I did tell you that you couldn’t do better, Jack,” said Lady Rosamund with a smile, as she gave a significant look towards Miss Fisher, who was now striding along the deck, issuing orders to the rest of the crew.

“I will endeavour to always trust your judgement in the future, dear cousin,” Jack said absently, also watching Miss Fisher. He wondered how soon he could engage her for the first two dances at the next ball. 


	4. 1887: The Adventure of the Man in the Soft Hat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By [gaslightgallows (hearts_blood)](http://archiveofourown.org/users/hearts_blood/pseuds/gaslightgallows)
> 
> Happy birthday aljohnsonwrites!

I was engrossed in my books when I heard the wheels come to a stop out front. I rose from my writing (an abstract of an essay on the circulation of the blood) and peered through the sitting room curtains to the gas-lit, cobbled street below. “There’s a cab stopping outside, Miss,” I said.

“What _sort_ of cab, Dot?” asked my friend from the depths of the settee.

“A hansom cab, Miss. There’s a tall man getting out.” I squinted through the yellow fog that was beginning to roll in. “He’s wearing a soft felt hat and a gray overcoat.”

“Ah!” Phryne Fisher bounded up from her reclining position. “Just the fellow I was hoping to see.” She scattered the newspapers from her lap and went to the sideboard. “Whisky, Dot?”

“No, thank you, Miss. Who is it?”

“You know my methods, Dot. Deduce, deduce…” Miss Fisher belted her dressing gown around her tailored suit (it did still surprise me, a medical student who considered herself an exceptionally modern woman, that my fellow lodger went about her daily business wearing trousers) and turned to me expectantly. “Who do you think it is?”

I closed my books and considered. “Not a client, because you appear to know who this gentleman is.”

“Good. Continue.”

“And I would say that it is not a… gentleman friend,” said I, carefully, “as you typically do not entertain them while I’m about.” We paused at the sound of the doorbell ringing sharply. “And you normally don’t subject them to Mr. Butler, either.”

Miss Fisher smiled. “Very considerate of me, don’t you think?”

“Very, miss. And I have never seen you this animated over a visit from your family.”

“ _Exceptionally_ accurate, Dot. So? What is your conclusion?”

“The gentleman is either a personal friend or a business associate.”

“Excellent, Dot!” Phryne exclaimed, as our landlord Mr. Butler ushered in the tall man in the soft felt hat. “Right on both counts!”

“Inspector Robinson to see you, Miss Fisher,” Mr. Butler said.

The tall gentleman removed his obscuring hat, revealing himself to possess a strong, handsome, melancholy face and sharp blue eyes. “I do hope I’m not intruding, Miss Fisher.”

“Not at all, Jack!”

I gulped a bit at the familiarity, but the inspector barely batted an eyelash. He turned his blue eyes on me. They were so keen they seemed to see straight through me, and I was instantly worried I might have committed some heinous crime, though I couldn’t imagine what it might be.

“Oh, where are my manners! Dot, allow me to introduce you to Inspector Jack Robinson, the most sensible man Scotland Yard has ever produced. Jack, let me present my friend Miss Dorothy Williams.” Robinson smiled, a much warmer expression than I had anticipated, and held out his hand. “Dot is a student at the London School of Medicine for Women,” Miss Fisher continued.

I braced myself for the usual masculine derision, but Robinson’s expression of polite friendliness never altered. “Very ambitious, Miss Williams,” he said, his deep voice smooth and sincere. “But knowing Miss Fisher’s keen judge of character, I’ve no doubt that you’re giving all the other students a run for their money.”

“Thank you, sir,” I said, very surprised. Miss Fisher winked at me.

“Mr. Butler, if you would—”

“What brings you to Wardlow Street, Inspector Robinson?” I asked.

He raised his eyebrows in amusement. “Business, Miss Williams,” he said, with a sidelong glance at Miss Fisher, who hid her expression, whatever it was, in her glass.

The bell downstairs clanged again and Mr. Butler slipped away to answer the door.

“Care for a drink, Jack?” Miss Fisher asked.

“No, thank you. On duty, you know.”

“Of course. You are a dull one for duties.”

Mr. Butler reappeared in the sitting room door with an air of apologetic serenity. “Forgive me, Miss Williams, there is a Mr. Collins to see you as well.”

“Oh, indeed!” I smoothed my sensible navy skirt and wondered what Mr. Collins, who fancied himself my beau, was doing at Wardlow Street. “Excuse me, Miss Fisher, Inspector.” I hurried to follow Mr. Butler out of the sitting room.

To my surprise, the door closed behind us. Mr. Butler walked calmly down the stairs and I went as well.

And then to my horror, I heard a sudden heavy thump from the room upstairs. “Gracious!” I exclaimed. There was another dull heavy noise, like a table overturning. “Miss Fisher!” I called, turning and starting to run back up the stairs.

But Mr. Butler caught my sleeve. “No need to worry at all, Miss Williams. I think we can trust the inspector and Miss Fisher to handle themselves.”

“But—” I trailed off in dull horror, listening to the sounds beginning to issue forth from the sitting room. Certain low... animal sounds. “Oh. Oh my...”

“Oh, _Jack_!”

Mr. Butler cleared his throat loudly. “Come along, Miss,” he said, rather loudly and cheerfully, and taking my arm. “We mustn’t keep your young man waiting. And,” he added, under his breath, “if he hadn’t shown up when he did, I don’t know what I should have done to get you out of there.”


	5. 1946: The Federal Accord

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's 1946 and Phryne Fisher Lady Detective is on the case! There's a million stories in The City by the Bay, this is a glimpse at one of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By [TheHonorableMrsMcCarthy](http://archiveofourown.org/users/TheHonorableMrsMcCarthy/pseuds/TheHonorableMrsMcCarthy)
> 
> Phrack Noir for the birthday girl, enjoy!

It was just after one o’clock in the morning. The late night air was thick with anticipation. A storm was headed their way. She ducked inside the nightclub. The crowd was thinning out as couples drifted out into the night or sank into the dark recesses of the club. The atmosphere was hazy, filled with smoke, too much perfume, and need.

Just another night in Melbourne.

There he was, like she knew he would be, sitting at the bar. Alone. She’d know that back anywhere and the dusty overcoat that covered it. No trace of the steadfast posture of righteousness he usually wore like a suit of armour. The broad sturdy shoulders you could hang your hat on. The kind of shoulders a girl could lean on when her troubles had her down. Tonight, those shoulders slumped as if one too many burdens had finally been placed there.

As she made her way toward him she caught the bartender’s eye. He went to the top shelf and then poured out a whiskey that he wordlessly placed on the bar. A well-known voice emerged from the man in the overcoat sitting at the bar.

“Should have known you’d turn up Miss Fisher.”

“I was quiet as a mouse, how could you hear me over the band?”

“Mice don’t wear French perfume.”

“I’d offer to wear less next time, but the police might have me arrested.” It was then that he finally turned his head her direction, a small smile threatened his lips.

“Cuffed maybe, never arrested. Too much paperwork.” Phryne took her place at the bar and the two toasted each other before taking a sip.

“I’ve missed you Jack Robinson.”

“I’ve been right here Miss Fisher.”

“Dammit Jack, we both agreed to this.”

“We did. No point in playing an old tune, that’s not why you’re here tonight.” She sighed, there was time enough later to sort this bit out. He was right, tonight she was here on business.

“No, it isn’t, Jack. I need information for my client. What can you tell me about the Windsor affair?”

“I knew he’d make his way to you Phryne. The good-looking ones always do.”

“Not fair, Jack! He’s a client like any other. Are we going to help each other on this or am I wasting my time?” She started to get up from her bar stool. He turned and placed his hand on her arm to still her.

She wore a green dress. She knew how much he loved her in green. This dress was the color of new money. She always looked like a million dollars to him. Today it was almost literal. The color was made for her eyes. Those damn capricious eyes. Eyes that could make a man feel ten feet tall, or stop him in his tracks with just a blink of her long black lashes. Eyes that became positively feline as they stared at you in the dark.

He took a breath to still his heart, accepted his fate and looked directly into the eyes of Phryne Fisher, Lady Detective.

His voice rumbled out in its lowest timbre. “You’re right, Phryne. We’ll likely need each other to solve this one. Just not here. Pretty sure we’re being watched.”

Phryne had felt the uneasiness as well. Now that she was looking at Jack, a flash of movement caught her eye over his shoulder. She’d seen the man earlier that night on her walk over. She knew they needed to make an exit out of there and fast. But it couldn’t look like they were in cahoots on the case. “Make it count, Phryne.” She felt him say the words more than heard them.

In a flash Phryne sprang into action. She took her free hand, cupped Jack’s face, and leaned in for a kiss. It was a kiss to stop time. At least that’s how they always felt. It was the kind of kiss that signaled the beginning or the end of something. And with the kind of baggage these two were packing it could be either.

As they parted for air Phryne quickly whispered to Jack. “The Federal Hotel, twenty minutes, suite 804. Then she pulled away with force, looked at him with disdain and threw a drink in his face.

“Remember that when you slink back to your floozy, Robinson!”

Phryne grabbed her clutch and fur stole. She strode out of the club with a flourish and headed back into the night.

It didn’t take long for the rest of the patrons to forget the dramatic scene in favor of their own carnal pursuits. Jack was pleased to note that only one man had slipped out to follow Phryne. He knew she’d make quick work of the guy so he took his time. His life only had one speed with her in it. He decided to savor the last moments of calm he was likely to have before he stepped into The Federal.

With deliberate movements, he pulled out his handkerchief and wiped his brow and cheek. He relished the final sips of her imported whiskey. She’d had the good sense to throw his, knowing he’d be drinking something local. He tossed a few crumpled bills on the bar, and the bartender nodded in response. Then Jack tipped his hat, straightened his tie and made his exit.

The Federal Hotel. One of the grande dames of Melbourne. Took up most of a city block, but was smaller than The Windsor. The Federal specialized in wall-to-wall carpeting and discretion. Only a few nocturnal souls remained in the lobby bar enjoying their night caps. Jack walked with purpose through the lobby to the lift.

“Room 804 please.”

“Yes sir.”

This very same lift operator had seen plenty of the gentleman callers to that room over the past week. This one wasn’t the most handsome or polished, but there was no denying he was the one who inspired the most confidence. He had to hand it to the dame in 804, she really did know how to pick ‘em.

He had barely tapped on the door when it swung open. And there she was. She’d changed out of her earlier dress into one of her kimono robes. This one was the exact shade of her nipples when she was chasing release. It was covered with butterflies and vines spread out across the back, continuing onto the sleeves in a jet black that echoed the color of her hair.

The drapes and folds cleverly concealed everything and nothing. Especially if you knew what to look for. And Jack knew better than most. He knew Phryne like the back of his own hand. And lately the front.

Before he could mutter out a proper (or even an improper) greeting, Phryne had pulled him into her room.

“Phryne…” His voice betrayed him. So much for remaining cool.

Hearing the arousal and restraint in his voice she looked at him with softened eyes.

“Sorry, Jack. I had to change. That idiot that tried to tail me from the club managed to get mud on my dress. I could have chosen a different one, I suppose. If you need me to…?”

Jack’s lips were on her throat before she could finish. “I need you.” He managed to mumble against her collarbone before making his way to the sensitive crest of her shoulder.

“Yes Jack, oh yes! I need you, too. Aren’t we supposed to be taking down a smuggling ring, though?” The fedora was left by the door. His overcoat and jacket were peeled away. His shoes kicked off.

“I thought your client wanted you to solve his wife’s suspicious murder, Miss Fisher?” He backed her toward the plush bed. His tie flew off, then he undid his waistcoat.

“Oh please, Jack, he was pretty, but not a particularly convincing liar. I knew that was a red herring.” While she worked on his shirt buttons, he took out his cufflinks.

“Then what do you need me for?”

She felt the edge of the mattress and flipped them around so that he was sitting on the edge of the bed. He began a blazing trail of kisses along her torso, coaxing open her robe to reveal a black négligée underneath. She loved to see him in just his singlet and braces, especially with that look of need in his eyes. It was second only to his fully naked form lying lustfully compromised beside her in bed.

“Do you really have to ask Jack?”

She pushed his shoulders, coaxing him farther up the bed towards the headboard. She crawled up his body with a look in her eyes that had the blood racing to his groin, then she sat astride him. They kissed with the passion of new lovers but the skill only mature lovers reach. He could feel the slight tremble in her thighs and caught the intoxicating familiar scent of her arousal.

He drew her up from her knees so that she was standing over him on the bed. He sprinkled kisses along her body as she rose above him. He gently slid the black lacy fabric up her thighs, past her hips to bunch at her waist. Phryne mewed in anticipation while he kissed along her thighs and lower abdomen.

Not many of her lovers had attempted this angle, much less done it well. How Jack had mastered it, she didn’t know. But Phryne was not one to dwell on the origin of life’s gifts, just celebrate them as they were bestowed upon her.

He looked up at her and Phryne’s breath hitched, staring down into his deep blue eyes. Damn, she’d missed this. Dammit, she missed him. And above all she missed…

“OhgodJack! Your tongue is too clever by half.”

She braced herself against the top of the ornate headboard as Jack’s tongue teased, fluttered and stroked her most intimate flesh. He coaxed one leg up over his shoulder. The changed angle had her screaming out obscenities in multiple languages until a particularly strong run of flutters sent her breathing into an erratic pattern and she grasped the back of his head.

As Jack felt her start to come undone, he grabbed her hips and adjusted the tip of his tongue, drawing out of her something like a scream that caved in on itself. It was Phryne’s way of trying not to alarm the neighboring room or a well-meaning bellboy. Part of the reason they weren’t welcome back at The Menzies Hotel...or The Scotts.

Her standing leg gave out and he helped guide her down onto his lap. Phryne grabbed the edge of the sheet and wiped off his lips and chin. Phryne looked up from attending to him to catch him staring at her lips. When he looked up they locked gazes.

Phryne’s hands instinctively made their way to the waistband of his trousers to unfasten them. He stopped her.

“We still have a case to crack, Phryne, and I need my wits about me.”

“Jack?! Tell me the truth. Is this about the case, or are you punishing me? Because if it’s the latter that’s just cruel and I won’t stand for it. I won’t, I tell you!”

“Trust me, Phryne. I have been a lot of things, many of which I’m not proud of, but I have never been cruel. I knew you were trouble the minute I met you. But I was never very good at avoiding trouble. We’re better together than apart. We always will be. No matter time, age, or circumstance.”

Phryne brought her hands to his cheeks.

“How are you so romantic and pragmatic at exactly the same time? You infuriating man!”

Phryne slid off of his lap and the bed. She moved to retrieve her robe from the floor but Jack’s hand stopped her.

“Ah, ah, ah Miss Fisher, the robe stays off. I need to keep my priorities firmly in place. I may be pragmatic, but I am not a saint. Trust me, when this case is over, I intend to tear that pretty little nightie off you with my teeth. Does that sound like more of what you’re after?"

"I do love a man with a plan, Jack."

"Then Miss Fisher, I suggest we compare our case notes and get back out there to catch this weasel.”

Phryne felt a shiver of anticipation. She rarely saw him this worked up. There was a fire in his eyes and as he had spoken, she had watched his face convey as many feelings as ten Shakespearean sonnets combined, all while barely taking his voice above the purr of a well-oiled engine.

“When we solve this case, I’ll hold you to that and more, Jack Robinson.”

“I’m counting on it. Phryne Fisher always gets her man, right?”

“And don’t you forget it!”


	6. 1971: Phryne in the Sky with Diamonds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By [PhryneFisherismyRoleModel (mewme)](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mewme/pseuds/PhryneFisherismyRoleModel)

“Inspector.” Jack Robinson looked up at the knock to see Constable Hugh Collins standing in his doorway. Jack shook his head. He still wore the mustache. “We just brought in a couple of ladies, taken in for questioning when narcotics made a bust. One is swearing up a storm and demanding to speak with you.” Jack pinched the bridge of his nose. It was too late for him to want to deal with anyone, let alone name-dropping suspects.

“Who is it, Collins?” Hugh looked down at his ever present notebook and squinted. 

“A Phoebe Fisher.” He looked up. “A Dot Williams was with her, Sir.” 

“Release them, Collins. But bring Phryne Fisher to me.” Hugh opened his mouth to speak. Jack held up a hand to silence him. “Phryne Fisher is a PI. Dot Williams is her apprentice. Give Dot a warning and let her go.” He looked at his watch. “Better yet, escort her home and make sure she does not go back to wherever you found them. You should have been off-shift an hour ago. Give her a stern warning but make sure she gets home safely. Stern, Collins. And bring back Miss Fisher.”

“Do you want me to wait on you, Sir?” 

“No. My discussion with Miss Fisher will take more than just a stern warning and off you go. And Collins?” Hugh paused at the door. “Shave off that mustache. I don’t want to see it in the morning.” 

“Yes, Sir.” Hugh turned and left the office. Jack rubbed his face with his hands. They skirted a line, this PI and him, but he was loath to admit he enjoyed her insights on cases. Hugh didn’t know just how often he and Miss Fisher met to discuss a case, to pass information back and forth, to pass a few hours in the dark. He heard the clop of footsteps and smoothed his face into a stony expression. He picked up a file and pretended to read. Jack glanced up as they entered the room. Her hair was long and inky black. She wore a sleeveless fringed leather vest over a sheer cropped top that left her shoulders bare. He could see the outline of her nipples through the thin fabric. The skirt long, multicolored patterns made his eyes dizzy. She made him dizzy. 

“You may go, Collins. And close the door.” He looked down at the file. Hugh hesitated. “Collins.” His voice was low as he flipped a page. The door shut with a snap. Phryne leaned against it. “Sit down, Miss Fisher.” He ordered. His eyes flicked to the door. “Explain.” She winked as sat down in a visitor’s chair.

“You pigs had no right to bring me here,” she spat. “I was doing nothing wrong. You coppers are all corrupt, all shit.” There was a knock at the door. Jack sighed.

“Collins. Enter.” The door opened and Hugh entered. 

“I thought you’d need to see Jenkinson’s report. And her effects.” He held out a typed sheet and a bulging brown envelope. Jack rose to take the bundle. 

“Is this it?” Hugh nodded and glanced at Phryne speculatively. She shot in the finger. “Out. I do not want to be interrupted.” Hugh nodded again and left the room slowly. Jack slammed the door behind him. “I thought I told you last time you came to the station, demanding to see me, Miss Fisher, that I had no interest in hearing what you have to say.” His voice was a bit louder than necessary. 

“I told you last time, inspector,” Phryne replied just as loudly, “I have some information for you.” 

“Sit your ass down and shut your mouth.” Phryne looked shocked for a moment as Jack quietly locked the door. He held up a finger and nodded when he heard footsteps receding down the hallway. “Jesus, Phryne.” He said as he placed the envelope on his desk and sat wearily down. 

“Do you have any whiskey, Jack?” 

“You know where it is.” Phryne stood and slipped off the vest, tossed it on her chair, and sauntered over to his filing cabinet to pull out a whiskey bottle. She grimaced at the label; looking around, she found a couple of empty and fairly clean mugs. She poured a splash of alcohol into each one. Handing one to Jack, she sat on the edge of his desk.

“You look like you could use a drink.” He nodded and emptied the contents of the envelope to his blotter.

“Knife. That’s a large wad of cash. Your PI License. And what is this, Miss Fisher?” He held up a baggie full of little squares of paper. He leaned back in his chair and eyed her over the rim of his mug. He took a sip, waiting for her explanation. 

“LSD, Jack.” She said simply. “I told you, I’ve been working a case. Frankie James is dealing in bad LSD. It’s already caused one death that we know of and possibly one other. I needed samples.” 

“Did you take some?” He asked, interrupting her explanation. He slammed his mug down and stood before her, his eyes fierce. She was stunned by his sudden movement and did not respond. “Did you take some?” He demanded, his eyes searching her face.

“Jesus, Jack. Do you think I’m stupid?” Phryne was stunned by this question. Jack rubbed his face in exasperation.

“It has been a long day and you, Miss Fisher, are going to be the death of me.”

“I only bought some from Frankie and was planning to bring them to you later tonight once I got a chance to test them—in the lab—but your officers arrested me and Dot before I could head home. I tried telling them I was working with you and they manhandled me.” Jack took her wrists in his hands, looking at them intently.

“Did they cuff you?” He asked. 

“Yes.” 

“I’m sorry I missed it.” 

“And then they claimed I was resisting arrest. I may have kicked one of them in the balls. Dot remained intent on staying with me. She put up a good fight herself. They brought us here and I immediately demanded to see you.”

“Demanded, Miss Fisher?” 

“Requested.” She smiled coyly. “Dot has never been in handcuffs.” Her tone had turned serious. “She hasn’t got her license yet.” Jack nodded at her words.

“There will be nothing in official reports to hurt her chances of obtaining her license.” He continued to hold her wrists, thumbs stroking her skin gently. “Did they hurt you?” He asked softly. She shook her head. He brought her wrist up to kiss the inside of one wrist and then the other. She sighed. 

“Jack.” She pulled him to her and tilted her head back. “Kiss me.”

“Demands, Miss Fisher.”

“A request, Inspector.”

He moved to place himself between her legs. He kissed her palms then released her. “That’s not the kind of kiss I want, Jack.” She ran her hand down his tie and pulled him closer. He followed willingly as she brought his mouth to hers. She kissed him softly. When he did not respond, she huffed and pushed him away. “Fine.” She hopped off the desk and turned to leave.

He pulled her back to the desk, pressing her body against it with his. He placed his hands on her waist, thumbs skimming the bare skin above her skirt.

“Miss Fisher,” he whispered in her ear. His tongue flicked out. She tilted her head to allow him better access. He brushed her thick hair aside as he nibbled her neck, tracing a hand along her torso and up her ribcage to brush the bottoms of her breasts. She shivered against him. “I don’t believe I gave you permission to leave.” He bit down on her neck and rested his hands on her hips, fingers tracing beneath the band of her skirt. She slid her hands up his chest to loosen his tie.

“I believe I deserve a phone call, Inspector.” She could feel his erection against her thigh. 

“Who do you presume to call?” She shrugged her shoulders. “A name, Miss Fisher.”

He ran a tongue along the side of her neck and settled himself more firmly between her thighs. His hands began to slowly pull her skirt up her legs.  

“You won’t get any names out of me, copper.” The skirt reached her thighs and her hands found his belt.

“The only name you’ll be calling is mine when you cum.” He growled in her ear as his fingers found her bare beneath the fabric, except for a garter that formerly held the items that littered his desk. “Do I need to read you your rights?” He whispered as his hands dipped between them to cup her. 

“I know my rights, copper.” She undid his belt and was working on his button and fly. His lips trailed up her neck.

“You have the right to remain silent.” She moaned as his fingers began to move.  

“Fat—oh god—chance that will happen.” Her moans grew louder as his fingers found her clitoris. 

“Shhhhhh...” He whispered in her ear as he nibbled along her jawline to the corner of her mouth. “I am supposed to be roughing up my prisoner.” He kissed her, swallowing her moans as his fingers slipped inside her. She slipped a hand inside his briefs and began to stroke him. His other hand found her breast, fingers tracing her hardened nipple. His mouth soon found the other, his teeth biting hard through her top. A loud knock sounded at the door. “Fuck me,” he muttered against her breast.

“Not right now it seems.” Phryne snickered. 

“Don’t move,” Jack ordered. “Collins!” He yelled. “What did I tell you?” 

“Sir, I’m sorry to interrupt.”

“What were my last words to you?” Jack’s voice was hard as his fingers continued to move inside Phryne. She squeezed his cock.

“That you did not want to be interrupted. Sir.”

“I’m going to write him up for this,” he mumbled against Phryne. “And what do those words mean, Constable?” His mouth returned to her breast. She moaned as he pressed her clit with his thumb. 

“It’s just that...” Hugh stammered through the door. “Dottie refuses to leave without Miss Fisher.” 

“I’m going to kill him.” Jack groaned as Phryne pulled her hand from his pants. She yelped as he bit her.

She slapped him on the top of his head before slipping off his desk and rearranged her skirt. Jack leaned hard against his desk, his eyes closed. 

“I’ll put up your whiskey as you put up your cock.” She winked as he looked down and realize she had pulled him free of his briefs. He gingerly tucked himself back in, wincing as he struggled to zip his pants over his erection. He sat down and laid his forehead on his desk blotter. 

“See, you can't keep me here, copper! I have friends!” Phryne said loudly, her voice belligerent as she bent over Jack and kissed his temple. “Shall we continue this interrogation later?” He nodded, his head still on the desk. She laughed as she left him, draping her vest over her arm. “And Jack?” She asked. Jack rose his head and eyed her. “Bring the handcuffs.” She unlocked the door and flung it open. 

“I’m going to kill him.” Jack rubbed his face with his hands. “Collins!” He yelled. “My office. Now!”


	7. 2016: Norwegian Noir

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By [Whilenotwriting](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Whilenotwriting/pseuds/Whilenotwriting)
> 
> Happy birthday, Anne! I hope you have a wonderful day!
> 
> (And I have no idea where this chapter title came from. NO IDEA.)

It was snowing. Of course it was snowing. Big, fat, lazy snowflakes of wet and heavy snow. Despite their heaviness, they did not rush the descent; it took them some time to convert the striking picture of ‘blood on snow’ to the more washed out and blurry ‘snow on blood’.

God, what was he doing in this country? It had seemed like a good idea at the time. A chance to get out of Melbourne and see something new.  (As if there was something to see. Six hours of daylight at best—when it wasn’t raining—but for once he had not been thinking too hard.)  An Australian girl had gone missing in Oslo, and they’d needed someone to go there to ‘assist’. As if the Norwegians couldn’t handle it on their own. So here he was, with no jurisdiction, no status, no allies and no friends, grudgingly allowed to follow the investigation to placate a set of too-well-connected parents. It was snowing, and the case had just gone from ‘missing, presumed dead’ to murder. The mangled, mutilated and very recently dead body left no doubt. But questions? It left questions aplenty.

He doubted he’d be more welcome here now. Not that they’d tell him so. Talking wasn’t something these people engaged much in. He felt positively chatty in their company. They might even stop nodding to him when they saw him, or forget to copy him into the emails. That was already happening quite often. And realistically, what did he have going for him? As far as he could judge, no one succeeded here without a scarred face, crippled emotions and a drinking problem. Well, he had his divorce. And a rather good knitted sweater.

He also, surprisingly, had company. He turned—there was no hiding the creaking sound of footsteps in wet snow.  But then, she did not exactly look as if she was attempting to hide. High-heeled boots, black tights (wool, he hoped, for her sake, or at least partially wool), short skirt, a burgundy jacket with glittery stuff on it and (he had to blink and look again) what had to be a feather boa. She looked utterly ridiculous and also … good.

“Bloody snow!” she said, and he wasn’t sure if she was cursing the weather or stating the obvious. But she had spoken in English, and to him, rather than to the Norwegians gathered (as well as Scandinavians were able to gather) at the other side of the scene.

 “They say,” he tried, with a nod in their direction, “there is no bad weather, only bad clothing.”

“They’ve got the bad clothing down.” She handed him her card. “The family wasn’t too happy about progress yesterday. I doubt they’ll be happier today.”

“You must know I cannot work with a PI?”

“Can you work with them?”

He didn’t answer. After all, he was a professional. She proved she was too. “How about a drink with a friend?” She smiled, and moved so close that he could feel her warm breath in the cold. “I haven’t been back to Australia for ages. I’m sure we could find something to talk about.”

\----------

“It gets old, doesn’t it?” she asked him over drinks, when the case was closed and the murderer taken. (It was, as it so often proved to be, the character with no other narrative function.) He’d like to think he’d made a difference to the case. He knew she had.

“What? Norwegian alcohol legislation?” No smile. “Work?” She just looked at him. He hardly dared to ask, but couldn’t help it. “Us?”

They had kept it entirely professional, of course. When working.

“If there is an ‘us’, that’s very recent,” she said. But she smiled when she said it, and her smile broadened when he braved looking up and met her eyes. “No, the murders. Are men even killed in this country?  It is always about women and fidelity and ownership.  You’d think we were in the wrong era.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This may possibly be my comment to a bestselling Norwegian crime fiction author. Possibly. 
> 
> And the weather/clothes thing? It is a genuine Norwegian saying. "Det finnes ikke dårlig vær, bare dårlige klær."


End file.
